


Different Yolks for Different Strokes

by otherwiseestella



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: #hoppyhartwin, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Easter, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Established Relationship, Filthy, Fluff and Smut, Fucking, Hartwin Week, Hoppy Hartwin, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Tenga Egg, hartwin bunny week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 13:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18550684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherwiseestella/pseuds/otherwiseestella
Summary: After a throwaway comment, Harry buys Eggsy an unexpectedly interactive Easter present, and smutty filthy fun ensues.Featuring Tenga Eggs, and so much fluffy smut. An Easter special for Hartwin Bunny Week.





	Different Yolks for Different Strokes

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always so welcome, it keeps me going and makes writing so much more joyful if I’ve folk to scream with.
> 
> This is my #HoppyHartwin entry for Hartwin Bunny week 2019, and was written on a phone so please excuse any wee errors. Happy reading!!

Eggsy can tell that Harry’s close. His rhythm’s starting to stutter and that’s fine, because Eggsy’s on a knife-edge himself. He can feel the heat of Harry’s body over his, and his back is slick with sweat, and isn’t that lovely. It’s boiling in the bedroom, unseasonably warm, and Harry’s been fucking, slow and dirty up inside him for what feels like hours now, all sweet-filthy words about how he wants to come inside him, wants to fill him up proper.

He likes it when Harry gets chatty. It don’t happen every time but right now, he’s muttering about how he hasn’t got off the whole time he’s been away, how he’s gonna make a such a mess of him, and Eggsy doesn’t give a shit if that’s bollocks, the thought of Harry unloading inside him is blindingly hot today, for some reason.

Harry slips his hand round to where Eggsy’s hard, been beading clear liquid onto the duvet for a good fifteen minutes. It’s only going to take a couple of strokes, and Harry’s loose fist round him feels like heaven.

‘Fuck, Harry, that’s it…please, I’m so close, so close, fuck.’

‘Eggsy, come on darling, come for me, I want to fill you up whilst you’re coming, I want…’

And Harry’s hand feels so good, unbelievably good, and what he means to say is probably something about how hot this is and how much he’s missed him, and how much he loves him, even, maybe. What actually comes out though, isn’t that at all. What actually comes out is:

‘Harry, babes, want you to come inside me. Wish I could see you coming inside me. Fuck, Harry, want to see it when you fill me up.’

And look. Nobody expects anyone else to be at their most eloquent, their most cogent, their most sensible when they’re on the edge of coming after two weeks without their incredibly hot boyfriend. Nobody.

But as soon as it’s out of Eggsy’s mouth he’s coming, messy spurts over Harry’s hand, the sheets, his crumpled up briefs. And Harry’s making this noise behind him like he can’t believe what he’s just heard, and then he’s coming too, freezing suddenly, the air all out his lungs the way it never is if he’s fighting, running, anything else.

They’re sweaty, then, spent and quiet in the bedroom that feels like an oven now.

There’s no sound save heavy breathing, and they’re still, as if they’ve been preserved in amber, still connected, Harry slowly softening inside Eggsy.

After what feels like the most enormous pause, Harry pulls out, gently, and says, as if to nobody in particular:

‘Well, that was unexpected.’

***

One can get procure anything in Soho, except a reasonably priced pint. And Harry isn’t here to drink. Rather, he’s come to see a man about a dog. Or that’s what he’d said to Merlin, and turned his glasses off before he slipped down the stairs into the tube.

The shop he chooses to frequent on this occasion is expensive enough to deter the casual browser, but accessible enough to sell what he’s after. The heavy curtain behind the door is real velvet, and the porn they’re playing on the small screen is something arthouse and elegant, doubtless filmed in San Francisco. But it’s just tacky enough to have what he’s looking for right up front, next to a big display board printed in horrendous pastoral shades.

They look very much like Easter eggs. So much so, in fact, that it heightens the incongruence into something truly fantastical. Easter eggs, yes, but the surprise isn’t chocolate buttons or praline truffles or even a tiny plastic toy. Or, well. Sort of.

They’re sitting in a great big basket, dark wicker, the perfect, filthy parody of an Easter basket. Nothing says ‘celebrate spring in all its glory and give thanks for the risen Christ’ like a basket of fucktoys, now does it. Harry can actually feel himself pinking at that thought, which is presumably exactly the reaction the basket is supposed to draw out.

Easter Promotion: Buy Six, Get Six INTENSE SENSATION Half-Price.

Harry doesn’t let himself get distracted. They have such lovely things in hear – out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of what look like green-glass dildoes, and wouldn’t they look beautiful half-inside Eggsy, bringing out the colour of his eyes.

No. That isn’t what he’s here for.

He speaks to the man at the counter – Stephen – whose long hair is today caught back in a little leather clasp, and who grins as soon as he recognises him.

‘And what might I help you with today? We’ve just had a lovely delivery of…’

Harry smiles. ‘I’ll take twelve of the Tenga eggs, actually. An excellent deal. And could you…wrap them for me?’

‘Well’, Stephen grins. ‘That’s a happy Easter to someone, and no mistake. Been popular, that, actually, but I don’t think anyone’s asked for them wrapped….’

And it’s all terribly discreet, nice black gift-bag, but Harry still calls in at Hotel Chocolat on the way home, buys an absolutely ludicrous Easter Egg and several more sensible sized ones, and swaps the bags the second he gets home.

***

Eggsy’s looking forward to Easter. He’s got Daisy an absolutely disgusting looking Easter egg, white chocolate filled with jelly beans in the shape of a Minion, and she’s gonna love it. His Mum’s got an actually nice one, almond and something, like a big Toblerone but egg-shaped. He’s just bought Harry booze, a beautiful rum-casked whiskey, a Balvennie fourteen that Merlin had sent him a picture of. No point in getting Harry chocolate, he just bitches about the gym.

But Eggsy? He wants to eat so much he can barely move. Gonna take Easter weekend off, he reckons, then do some sort of cardio-blitz the following week. Cos he wants his mum’s roast, and then he wants Harry’s roast, because his mum don’t do lamb and Harry had looked so shocked at that, genuinely aggrieved, that he couldn’t say no to a second dinner. And then he’s gonna eat so much chocolate that he goes all spacey and has to sleep on the sofa because he’s too full for the stairs.

And he knows Harry’s got him the good stuff because he’d left the Hotel Chocolat bag in the hall, but Eggsy didn’t peek because he don’t wanna spoil it. And if he’s been looking at the website and ranking eggs in order of preference then look, that’s his business isn’t it? Bag’s heavy, though. Nice.

He can imagine the look on Harry’s face after he’s polished off whatever’s in it. He’s noticed, the way Harry watches him like hawk when he eats loads, especially when he’s back after mission. Not mentioned it though, not yet. He don’t want to make it weird, make Harry self-conscious if he’s a bit into it or something. Harry’d said to him at Christmas ‘I don’t know where you put it all’, with a sort to beatific expression, and then taken him to bed and given him a lovely lazy blowjob, despite Eggsy being far too full to reciprocate. Eggsy’s pretttty keen to repeat that on all major holidays, and Easter is shaping up nicely.

**

JB needs to be let out to greet the world and urinate on it at 7am regardless of festivities, and it’s Harry’s turn on Sunday morning. So it isn’t as if he’d planned to do it, but it’s easy enough, once he’s put food down and popped the kettle on, to take the gift bag upstairs.

And it’s rather lovely, even if the ruse is hardly a sophisticated one, to hear Eggsy’s sleepy voice say:

‘Chocolate in bed, Harry? Spoiled.’

‘Mmm’, he replies, opening the curtains a fraction, enough to let the pale morning light in. ‘Something like that.’

Eggsy’s sitting up, sorted the pillows out, and heavens, he’s lovely like this, all rumpled, sleep-soft and golden in the light. The way his eyes crinkle, and even his smile seems slightly formless, as if he’s not quite managed to work out what he’s smiling about yet.

Except, of course, the whole scene is almost unbearably lovely – neither of them are away, about to go away, back but battered and bruised – there are no deadlines to speak of, and it’s an official sanctioned two days off. The bedroom’s neat, and if there are dirty briefs from last night balled up in one corner, well, they’re the underwear of his exceptionally good looking, obscenely flexible boyfriend, and so looking round, that tiny imperfection just makes the scene all the sweeter. A part of Harry’s life he’s delighted by every day, even now. It’s an unbearably, lavishly, decadently lovely scene. And, as Harry’s cock in his pyjama bottoms gently reminds him, about to become even lovelier.

‘Don’t look inside yet, please. I’m going to go and get the tea.’

‘Coffee, please. Feel like if I’m gonna have something sweet for breakfast, don’t need tea and two sugars.’

There’s an argument, of course, that Eggsy could simply try unsugared tea, but far be it from Harry to start an international incident before breakfast.

 

Impulse control comes naturally to Eggsy in his professional life- quite extraordinarily so, in fact, until it comes to getaway scenarios. The same is not true, however, of the day-to-day life and by the time Harry has set the drinks tray down, Eggsy’s absolutely desperate, fingers twitching at the edge of the bag.  
‘C’mon, get back into bed, swear you’re drawing this out because you’re some kind of freak for delayed gratification.’

Well, he isn’t a spy for nothing, is he, and Harry let’s his cheeks pink just a little.

The second Harry’s brought the duvet back up, Eggsy’s into the bag.

He takes in the two beautifully wrapped packages, both in black and gold foil, and done up with little bows.

‘Ain’t you done a nice job wrapping these?’

He unwraps the first set, and is obviously surprised. The pack of six comes packaged like eggs, the thin clear plastic holding the six white-and-pastel tengas. It isn’t clear though. That’s the whole joke, Harry supposes, the sheer quantity of time it takes to work out what they are.

Eggsy flashes him a look as he’s fiddling with the plastic container. ‘What are these? Didn’t see them on the Hotel Chocolat website.’

‘Well, no’, he demurres. ‘I don’t imagine you did. Open them and you’ll see.’

Eggsy’s already halfway into one. If Harry had been guiding his choice, he’d have probably suggested the wavy one, but the spider is rather nice, all rippling web-waves on the inside. At least it isn’t the intense pack. A bit much, he imagines, for first thing on Easter morning. There’s a funny thrill down Harry’s back though, as he considers the joy of Eggsy unwittingly choosing his pleasure for him. 

Eggsy might be deeply observant in his working life, but sleep-muggy and only halfway through his coffee, it takes him until his thumb actually cracks through the pull-of packaging to work it out.

‘Harry Hart’, he laughs, eyebrow arching. ‘These ain’t chocolate. My boyfriends a proper dirty one, ain’t he? Got me … what are these, anyway. Are these fuck-eggs?’

Momentarily, Harry’s brain short circuits, wonders desperately if ‘fuck-eggs’ are some terrifying off-brand alternatives, or of its just what Eggsy’s morning brain has come up with. 

He’s reaching for an explanation, something about Japanese design and innovative materials and yes, aren’t they lovely, but what actually comes out of his mouth is ‘I believe you mentioned wanting to see me come inside you, and I rather thought that these might… come close, at least, to facilitating that experience.’

Eggsy absolutely loses it at that. Looks at Harry like he doesn’t know whether to kiss him or laugh, and then dissolves into absolute giggles.

‘What, because then instead of fucking Eggsy you’d be fucking… eggs?’

And oh bloody hell. Harry had been so intently focused on the way they’d sound, the way Eggsy would be able to watch him come into the tight channel, how exhilarating it would be to have him watch, that it had totally escaped his notice that the whole thing was a giant, elaborate pun. That had not, however, been lost on his bed companion, who is laughing fit to burst.

‘Christ, fucking hell, I mean don’t get me wrong that’s hot as hell, but c’mon that is cheesy, innit. You really didn’t think of that?’

Harry simply raises an eyebrow, drinks his tea, and waits for Eggsy to regain enough composure, for the giggles to leave his body in little waves until he’s pink and breathless, that he picks up the toy from inside it’s cracked plastic shell and stretch it between his fingers, pull out the little lube packet.

‘What do you think?’ Harry isn’t nervous, exactly, and Eggsy’s grinning like he can’t believe his luck, but he still wants to check- and it isn’t as if they have to hop to it immediately anyway, despite what his cock, pink and hot between his legs, thinks.

***  
‘S’not as if Eggsy’s gonna say no to getting some of a morning under any circumstances, but Harry’s got that look he gets occasionally when something’s going to be really good. And it’s not like Eggsy’s short of wanking experience, but he’s never even seen one of these before. They look nice, but he can’t quite work out how they’re gonna stretch? 

All he knows is that Harry’s face looks like it needs kissing whatever else happens. He draws Harry back down onto the edge of the bed, scoots forward and rests his forehead against Harry’s for a sec, breathes him in, looks him in the eye.

‘I think’, he says, ‘that you’re a filthy pervert and I fucking love you.’

He tastes like black tea, lemon-sharp and ohh, isn’t that lovely. Eggsy loves kissing Harry, knows he’s an absolute whore for it: the way Harry kisses just like getting stuck into a fight. Hard and clever and he presses in against Eggsy whenever Eggsy makes them little noises that he can’t quite help. Slip of clever tongue and that worrying at Eggsy’s lip that lets him know Harry’s pretty keen for it, even more than usual.

And Harry likes this, showing something new, some treat or technique Eggsy might like. Not that Eggsy’s short of bits to tell Harry, neither, but they fall so nicely into that role, and now he’s actually fucking him it’s even better, doesn’t have to use the teachable moments as wank fodder. Harry’s taught him how to fight, to wear suits and use a fish knife, so why not little bits of fucking here and there?

He presses his thigh forward, feels Harry hard and hot against him. There’s advantages to sleeping in the buff in this hot weather, and one is that he can show Harry, just by pulling away, letting his eyes dip down, exactly how fucking into this he is. He’s fully at attention now, and as he slips a hand down to get hold, just to relieve some of that heat, that lovely pressure, Harry keens in his throat. Suddenly, all Eggsy wants is to watch Harry fuck into something, hear that noise as it comes out of him with the effort.

‘You gonna wait around for an invitation?’ He mumbles it into his mouth, pressing their lips together, but Harry cottons on. He feels around on the bed, not breaking the kiss, and grabs the egg from where it’s lying.

Eggsy watches. Watches Harry open the lube, line the inside of the egg. Steady hand of a man who knows what he’s doing. And then- oh, bloody fucking hell, Harry slips the egg over his dick, catches Eggsy’s eye and then stretches it down. It makes a noise, sloppy and wet and holy fuck, it sounds exactly like …

‘Shit Harry, that’s… that sounds like..’

It sounds like when Harry’s takes ages to loosen him up, proper licked him open and he’s fucking into him, slow and deep and so fucking wet. It’s not quite right, there’s a rubbery note to it but that just makes it better. Like what Harry’s doing, what he wants, is to get as close to fucking Eggsy as he can- the sound, the feel, and, Eggsy realises, the visual.

He’s moving the toy up and down, hand loose round it, fucking into it all intent and focus. Like he must be when he’s fucking Eggsy from behind, which makes Eggsy’s spine feel like it might melt. When Harry pulls it tight along his shaft Eggsy can see the head like there’s barely anything between Harry’s cock and his hand and it looks obscene, like a peep show, like if there was some window inside his own body. He wants something inside himself all of a sudden, wishes he’d thought to finger himself but he’s too far gone now. 

He catches Harry’s eye and he’s biting his lip like it’s real nice, he breathes out, that little guttural moan he gets when he’s concentrating. 

Eggsy realises his own hand is mimicking, running up over his shaft just the same. That he’s wet- not as slick as Harry but he’s leaking pretty steady and the slick over his head feels fucking delightful. At the same time, he realises how badly he wants to touch Harry, to feel the egg stretched over him, to feel how hard he is, to help make him come.

Fuuck, but he wants to help make him come. 

***  
Harry can see how badly Eggsy wants to touch. If Harry’s brain wasn’t wrapped in the hot-slick-warm sensation that engulfed everything, he’d make a comment about taking his eye out. He’s palming his cock but every inch of him is lazer-focused on Harry, fucking loud and deep and wet into the toy. He can’t remember it ever feeling this good. It’s almost definitely the audience, the thrill of those green eyes drinking it in. 

And then, as if he’s unaware of it, Eggsy reaches his hand forward.

Harry isn’t sure why he says it. It isn’t as if it wouldn’t be lovely to have Eggsy’s hand, hot and sure round his cock. Wonders if he could feel his callouses through the thin silicone membrane. But instead he says:

‘Hands off. I’m inside you , remember? So you aren’t allowed to touch.’

The noise Eggsy makes is beautiful, a little almost-growl of frustration, draws his hand back like he’s been burned. 

It’s something he turns over in his mind, watches for on missions. Eggsy’s beautiful, unwavering obedience. Not as if he doesn’t take power beautifully, take charge. Not that there aren’t days when Harry’s got a pretty lacing of bruises or aching thighs. 

But the way he’ll obey Harry is something else. A gift, since that very first day. A gift that makes his cock pulse into the toy, which is so tight, and beautifully textured, feels - well, it’s no substitute for the real thing, But there is something irresistible about the cling and release of it. And the way Eggsy says, quiet and lust-thick ‘Harry… Jesus, Harry it’s so fucking hot, I just want to touch you.’ 

‘You can’t’, he grinds out. ‘You can touch yourself though, so I can see how much you want it.’

Just Eggsy’s hand disappearing back to clutch at his own thigh makes all the blood rush to his head, makes him realise how close he is, how he isn’t going to last.

‘What does it feel like?’ Eggsy’s a smirking bastard, all grins and knowing. He can tell how close Harry is, he’s certain, knows how much effort it’ll take him to speak now. Must know, surely, the kick he gets, even now, out of explaining things.

He sneaks a look over at Eggsy, who looks like a Caravaggio, like a blond re-do of that pouting boy with his fruit basket, except Eggsy’s delectable bounty is much pinker and currently far more enticing.

‘It feels almost- almost, as if I’m inside you. Less heat, but oh, the little channels and grooves. And it’s wet, the way you are, and the grip is exceptional. I like…’ and he had to pause for breath, so he can concentrate on holding back his orgasm, even though he can feel it rushing in. ‘I like the way you can see it. How exposed it feels. How… differently intimate. What it’s doing to you… you look so pretty when you’re watching.’

***

Eggsy’s gonna come. He is. Harry’s voice in his ear like silk, like it can knot onto that tight heat building in his stomach and pull on it. Dirty bastard, talking like that with his hand on his dick inside that pretty toy that makes Eggsy’s mouth water, and that don’t bear closer examination right now.

‘Fuck, Harry. You know what you sound like?’

Harry just grunts, a little noise of effort and Eggsy wishes it were coming from him being inside him. 

He actually takes his hand off then, watches his cock bounce up against his stomach, leave a pretty sticky spot. Takes his hand off because he ain’t coming first, not when the whole point is watching Harry blow his load into the toy.

But he’s learned there’s no point trying heroics in this game, Harry’s got serious stamina, usually takes Eggsy twice round the block before he gets off, and Eggsy can only draw this out so long.

Watching Harry’s cock slip wetly into the egg, watching the toy get all pulled taut is hypnotic and it takes him a second to remember how to speak.

He’s leaning so close, bent almost double over the duvet to get his face as near to Harry’s cock as he’ll let him and his abs can feel it, holding that pose, so there’s a little strain in his voice when he does manage.

‘Babes, Harry, please, I’m gonna come just looking, any sec.’

‘Don’t you dare.’ Harry’s response is immediate. ‘I want to finish inside you, let you see what it’s like when I fill you up.’

And he can see, hear, Harry speeding up, his hips losing their strict rhythm.

‘That’s it, Harry,’ he finds himself saying, low and smiling, dropping his consonants like he knows he likes. ‘You gonna fill me up nice and deep, yeah? You been away two weeks, bet you’re gonna still be absolutely full of come, yeah?’

And he knows it’ll send Harry over the edge. He makes an unholy noise, and Eggsy has the pleasure of watching his whole body, such a perfect machine, hold for a second entirely still, can admire every twitch of his gorgeous muscles.

And Harry pulls the egg tight, the silicone clear and tight and then lets out a breath and comes. And yeah, Eggsy’s not religious but fuckin’ hell, it’s a religious holiday all right. Harry’s come beads, spurts, then floods the egg. And yeah he was just talking dirty but he was right. There’s so much. It just keeps coming, filling up the toy so much that for a mad second Eggsy thinks it’ll burst.

‘Christ Harry. Look at you, filling that up. Is it like that when you fuck me, yeah? You put all that inside me?’

And it looks so good. Eggsy’s half-mad from not being allowed to touch, and now he can’t even feel Harry’s come, and he wants to feel it with his hands and he wants to feel it inside him and he wants to come in the toy to feel what like it feels and isn’t that some fucking mind-bending shit. Wishing he could be some diffuse presence so he can have all the sensation, be drowned in Harry completely.

And even while he’s thinking that, Harry’s still coming, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling just a little open. 

God, he’s lucky. Lucky to be looking at Harry. And then Harry’s looking at him, too, easing himself out the egg and Eggsy’s got an idea, maybe, or maybe it’s just wanting to be so close to Harry after he’s barely been touching him.

He doesn’t even let Harry put the egg down before he’s grabbed it.

***  
Eggsy is going to be the death of him. The mouth on him, the way his eyes stayed so wide the whole time and bloody hell- it might not be directly comparable but there was something transcendent about having Eggsy watch him, to feel both exposed and entirely in control. And now, loose-limbed and light headed, he returns to himself sufficiently to turn to Eggsy, perhaps to offer his hand or mouth but- 

‘Good lord, Eggsy. Are you…?’

‘Gonna fuck your wet, dirty toy and jizz right where you jizzed, get mine all mixed in? Yeah I am.’

And he is. He’s working the toy over himself, and Harry can hear how wet it is. It sounds different now, far fuller than it was, sloppy and deeply wet. It’s stretched down Eggsy’s cock and … oh. Harry hasn’t quite appreciated how filthy it looks, part peep-show, part deeply private self-pleasure.

‘Fuck, Harry it’s so wet, so proper warm, and god, don’t your jizz feel nice round my cock. Wish I could do this with you, put my come where you’ve come, push it into the same arse.’

And Eggsy’s rambling, of course, because he can’t actually come inside himself, and if this is his way of asking for a threesome they’re going to have to have a conversation when he isn’t two seconds from watching his boyfriend come inside a dirty silicone egg.

‘That’s it, love. Come on. I’d like to see it.’ And his voice is gentle but he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to coax Eggsy to finish.

‘You look so exquisite, Eggsy. I think...I think this is the filthiest thing I’ve ever seen. Lovely boy.’

And Eggsy’s strokes are fast. No finesse, just working the toy over himself, fast and noisy and punctuated by brutal little breaths, his chest beading sweat and heaving.

And that’s it. That’s the moment Eggsy loses it. Looks right at Harry, manages to look both innocent and filthy and…

‘Oh, Harry. Fuckin’ hell. Fuck, shit, fuck.’

And then he’s coming. Long ropes, leaking out into the toy, filling it up until there’s wet trickling out round the bottom, while Eggsy’s cock throbs visibly. He actually moans, a sweet little noise Harry rarely gets to hear. ‘It’s so tight, feels so fucking good.’

Like a pretty porn video, coming all over Harry’s own spend. He actually thinks he might faint, it’s so decadent , and when Eggsy finally slumps against the pillows, body breathless and weak, Harry’s cock gives an absurd little twitch, as if it wishes it could come again.

And then it actually swells. Actually swells, because Eggsy, his slumped shoulders, sweet slack mouth, flicks his eyes up to meet Harry’s and shoots him a smile. 

And then he says, slow and low and languid, eyes never dropping Harry’s gaze: ‘Wouldn’t be Easter, would it, without an egg to eat, right? Remember the advert- what was it - how do you eat yours?’

And then he brings the egg to his mouth, shoots Harry a look and flicks his tongue right into the middle of it, scoops the mess in the middle out like it’s fondant. Wiggles his tongue, pink and white and utterly debauched, then makes an absolute show of swallowing. Makes a little noise in his throat like it really is the center of a creme egg, swallows, tips his open mouth up to show Harry.

Harry leans down to kiss him, then, deep and strong, tasting them both in his mouth.

‘You, darling, are a menace’, he says, pressing Eggsy to him, breathing in his sweat-sweet smell.

‘Happy Easter, yeah?’ And Eggsy shoots him an absolutely shit-eating grin.


End file.
